The Exception
by bornatexasgirl
Summary: In which Oliver wakes up with a mouthful of hair and Felicity is the exception to the chaos. Olicity for niagaraweasel! :D Now a series of oneshots/drabbles. Edit: Oliver and Felicity's daughter is now Charlotte Maverick Queen.
1. The Exception

He wakes with a mouthful of blonde hair.

Under circumstances more concerning (and painful) than this one, he'd take a great deal of comfort in knowing that she is with him, his beloved _Girl Friday_, because Felicity is the one person he's always been able to rely on. She's the most reliable, _constant _person in his life. But, now, waking up with a mouthful of blonde hair is amusing because it means she's abandoned her side of the bed for his. Again.

She's a left-side sleeper, he's a right, and usually never the twain shall meet. Of course, that is providing that they are in their own beds. On those nights, though, when neither of them can handle what waits for them in their dreams, they're a little broken down and a little vulnerable, and they crawl into her bed and they seek in each other, what they'd never find alone.

Her hair is soft when he combs it out of his mouth and settles it against her head. It smells of clean white soap and something that's a bit sweet. He presses his face into it and releases a long breath because here, now, he is just Oliver. Palmer Technologies, Ray Palmer, Arrow, and whatever other chaos in his life, it didn't matter.

"Felicity," he breathes softly, looking down at the woman pressed against him. "Felicity?"

Deep breaths.

Steady, even, breaths.

He laughs quietly because any other time, she'd jump out of her skin with him this close. But, now, when it is a mutual closeness, she's sleeping and doesn't hear a word he says.

"Felicity?" he tests a bit louder volume but she doesn't flinch. "Felicity? Fel-i-_city_?"

Her fingers peek out and curl around the edge of the blanket, pulling it down with her as she burrows further into him. "Hmm." Her sigh of contentment vibrates through him and he decides that waking her up isn't worth disturbing _this; _this kind of contentment.

This kind of _peace. _

When her eyes are closed, her breathing is soft and steady against his chest, and she's curled into him as if he is the only shelter she needs. When she's dressed in kitten-decorated pajama pants and a t-shirt that may or may not belong to him – information she's not willing to disclose.

He doesn't say another word, just tightens his arms around her, and closes his eyes again. To say that Oliver Queen didn't have much peace in his life would be greatly understating the enormity of what he dealt with on a daily basis but there is one exception. And she's blonde and her eyes are bluer than the water he stared at for five years and she looks better in a dress than Laurel and Sara ever did. And, she is the one person, he wants in his life for a long, long time.

Felicity Smoak.

She is always his exception.


	2. Let's Make It Work

She is halfway to _Big Belly Burger_, when it happens; that moment of realization when your brief memory lapse gives way to the revelation of what exactly you thought you forgot. Well, that, and for Felicity Smoak, it is the absence of the near constant beep of her tablet alerting her to something. The beep is a bit of a comforting presence on her drive home, every night, and when it's missing, she notices. Immediately.

Thus, the reason her double cheeseburger with fries and a Coke will have to wait. A slightly dangerous, probably illegal, but very necessary turn in an abandoned lot has her back on route to the foundry. The plan was simple; go in, grab tablet from desk, and leave again. Finding Oliver bent over the table, doing something with his suit, growling expletives at nobody in particular, was _not _part of the plan. She won't be complaining, but it hadn't been part of the plan.

"Oh. Oliver. You're still here. Not that you shouldn't be here – this is your home. I mean, it's not where you sleep but this is – "

"Fel-i-_city._" Because, my God, does she breathe at all? Even so, he still feels the beginning of an amused smile quirking his mouth at the corners because this is what she does to him; makes him smile like an idiot.

"Three. Two. One." Felicity murmurs, looking down at the pop of her royal blue heels against the cement floor. "Sorry."

"Did you need something?" his hand twitches, flexing to adjust the size of the needle pinched between his two fingers – just, for the record, he doesn't recommend taking a sword to, well, anywhere. His suit is now sliced in several areas.

"I forgot my, uh…" she looks around in a frantic search for the reason she returned, having left only twenty minutes ago. "Aha!" a triumphant cry and she holds up the tablet she's hardly ever without. "This."

"Of course." Oliver laughs knowingly. "Have a good night, Felicity."

She watches him for a moment, the way he fumbles with the needle, struggling to keep the suit from slipping out of his grasp before he can pull the first loop taut. The thread is fraying and if he keeps this up, the suit is going to be in shreds before the first tear is fixed. She wonders how he can sew stitches into his own skin but he can't mend fabric.

"There's a difference between skin and fabric, Felicity."

Oh.

Oops.

Maybe, that hadn't quite been a thought so much as one of her notoriously unfiltered, thinking-out-loud moments that she was quickly becoming known for. Huh. Yeah. That's definitely it, but still, she can't help but notice his struggle.

"Um, Oliver?"

He blows out a breath of slight irritation at her interruption of his five-star concentration. Okay, one-star. He hadn't been concentrating at all. On anything. Except maybe the way her dress fit. "Yes, Felicity?"

"I – uh, you seem to be having trouble with that." She motions awkwardly to the fabric crumpled in his palm and the needle in the other.

"I don't, um…" Oliver's face heats up, a sheepish expression pulling at his usually stoic features. "I don't sew. Stitches I can do but fabric is different and Diggle isn't available."

"May I?"

She drops the tablet on the desk and shrugs out of her jacket. If Oliver is shocked, he doesn't show it, not that he would. She takes the needle from him and pulls the thread free from the eye, reaching for the spool. He quietly steps aside, letting her get to work on his suit – while, it may be amusing and more than a little impressive to watch, when she goes into work mode, it is usually best to stay out of her way.

"You know how to sew?" it's fascinating, really. Usually, he only sees her this focused if she's in front of a computer.

Her blonde hair bobs with her head before she stills, clasping the thread between her teeth, and expertly knotting it and cutting it free from the spool. "Yeah. I've stitched you up, haven't I? Although there is a difference between skin. Less muscle with fabric, easier, really." she murmurs, reaching for his suit. "Seemed like a good skill to know. Between you and Dig, it's come in handy."

Layers.

So many layers to this girl.

He's known her for a while, now, and he's still not convinced he has her figured out. When it comes to Felicity Smoak, he will never be able to say with any amount of confidence that he truly knows everything.

Oliver can do nothing but smile because…"You are so much more than a girl Friday."

"IT girl, too." Felicity's eyes widen, shock setting in when she realizes just how much she does for them. "Occasional seamstress, part-time nurse – without the license because I never went to medical school. Too many needles. Very scary. Always had that problem. The doctor's practically had to sedate me just to vaccinate me to keep me ready for school. Which is ironic because sedatives are delivered via – "

"Felicity."

"Three. Two. One. Right." Without another word, she turns to the task at hand, and he realizes that she's almost done. The fabric's all but mended itself and her careful stitches pull the fabric together in such a way that if it wasn't for the subtle difference in color, it would almost look as if it was made that way. "Well, I wouldn't recommend doing whatever produced this again, but you probably will so I shouldn't even bother."

"It was a sword." Oliver murmurs as if it is for her ears only. "You know you are more than just an IT girl, or a secretary, or the thousand other things you are to us."

"Oliver…" there's a slight catch to her voice; she wants him to stop but at the same time, she can't help but wonder where he's going with this.

"No, Felicity." His voice is louder, stronger, and there's a confidence in his words. "You are. You always have been. You're my partner. My friend. It hasn't escaped my attention, lately, that I may have taken you for granted. What you do around here – you go above and beyond the call of duty for us."

"You risk your life."

"And, you practically gave yours up to fight with me." Oliver's confidence is hidden behind something much softer, much more sincere, and reverent. "Come on, Felicity. You work nine-hour days at Palmer Technology and then you come here and clock how many more hours?"

"Actually," she interrupts, tilting upward a little bit. "I don't technically clock any hours, here. You don't pay me. Palmer does. Which he so takes advantage of when I complain about something. I almost had to go to HR with sexual harassment claims that were ending up on my desk."

Oliver frowns at this bit of information. While, he can't say he pays attention to every little thing she says, because for the most part, her babbling makes no sense to him, he does take notice when she brings a problem to his attention. Especially one as serious as sexual harassment claims. Ray Palmer may have controlling interest in the company but the people within it still remained Oliver's number one concern.

"Fel-i-_city._" He elongates the syllables. "What sexual harassment claims?"

"A girl in Research and Development is, or was having issues with the security guard. When she would leave for lunch, he would get a tad more touchy-feely than she was comfortable with." Felicity explains all in one breath, shoulders dropping at the end of her run-on sentence. "But, I took care of it."

"…How?"

A wicked grin illuminates her face. "I pulled the funds from his bank account." She tilts her head, thoughtfully. "He had a nice little nest egg, but not when I got through with him. When that was done, I printed a copy of his bank statement, showing he was in the red and left it on his desk. I may or may not have left a note along with it."

His eyes narrow, because Felicity bringing your financial world crashing down around you is bad enough, but when she brings her own personal vendetta into it – that's when he fears for people.

"What?" she shrugs innocently when she notices his look of suspicion. "I simply told him that if I heard anything more of his lewd behavior, his funds would be donated to a charity for rape victims." This is where she adopts a proud little smirk. "And he'd be receiving a visit from a friend of mine, who would be more than happy to change his ways for him. If I didn't, his money would be returned by the end of the week."

"And?"

"I returned his money but not before I asked Dig to have a private word with him." Felicity giggles because honestly, John Diggle had been delighted to set the moron straight. "I'm not quite sure what was said but the man's been good and when Dig stepped off that elevator, he looked pret-_ty _proud of himself."

Oliver just laughs because he knows that Felicity is being honest and he's never been more proud of her. To step up and take action against something as serious as harassment, it is absolute something she would do and it does nothing but further prove his earlier point. She's not just his _Girl Friday_. She's a trustworthy, honest friend; fiercely protective and loyal to a fault.

"You're remarkable, Felicity Smoak." He smiles sincerely.

"Thank you for remarking."

It might have been the way she smiled at him, or the fact that she's fixing his suit, and she looks adorable bent over the leather and neoprene with a needle and thread, or maybe it was just because he's tired of denying his self a chance at happiness. The more he denies his feelings for her, the more he pushes her away, and the less he lets himself think he has a chance, the more brooding he does, and the more dangerous he becomes.

"It scares me." It's an expression of vulnerability – which, for Oliver Queen, is a rarity. "I thought about how different my life would be without you in it and it is scary." His eyes flick unconsciously to the bow and arrow sitting in its gleaming case. "It doesn't matter how good I am with my bow, or how many times I put an arrow in someone, Felicity. I couldn't do this without you as my partner, as my friend."

"But, Sara – " she wants to protest because Sara was…everything. She had been blonde and gorgeous and she could hold her own with them whereas Felicity always needed protection, always managed to screw up and get into trouble.

"Sara was not you." Oliver interrupts her train of thought. "Sara was good, yes. I will concede to that but she - God, Felicity, you're irreplaceable. And, you were first. Sara was – she was Island Oliver and I am not that guy, anymore. You know me, now."

"I like this Oliver." Felicity smiles affectionately.

"Me too." Oliver nods, "You know this Oliver. I cannot be Island Oliver and I will not be Playboy Oliver and bow down to Laurel. She is not who I want on the other end of that ear piece when I'm taking out a criminal."

"And, I am?" Her voice is hoarse, disbelieving, and lacking its usual sparkle of confidence that burned so brilliantly when she spoke of her abilities.

"Always."

There's always so much intensity in his eyes, his words, but this – this is different. This is not the vigilante with the partner who can track the most elusive of criminals or the ex-CEO with the girl Friday. This is Oliver Queen, vulnerable despite his careful guards, and in need of his best friends to stand by him and let him know he's not alone.

"This whole thing with you and with Dig, it's worth more than what I do in the IT department." Felicity's smile could burn out an entire city. "Fixing computers and writing code and being vice president is fun, obviously, or I wouldn't do it for a living. Not that Ray Palmer doesn't pay me well. But, what I do with you, for you, it means more. You save people and God knows you've saved me more than I probably deserve, and maybe one day it'll all end but even then, when Arrow no longer works to keep the city safe." She releases a heavy breath. "I'll still know that what we did, here…it meant something."

"It does – you do, Felicity."

"Don't toy with me, Oliver." The needle drops, a flash of silver against green before it rolls beneath a leather strap. "I cannot handle you doing this. I cannot handle you playing this game with me. It will either work or it won't."

"Then, let's make it work." There. He said it. Well, if a leonine roar counts as saying something then, yes, he said it. He wants this to work. "I'm tired, Felicity. I'm tired of not being the guy to get the girl. I want the girl and the girl is you. It will always be you."

Felicity Smoak is rarely speechless.

Except for now.

And, Oliver Queen can't help but smirk a little in satisfaction. He leans closer, teases her a little, lips meeting just enough to leave them both wanting more. His hands curl tight around her hips, pushing her against the table, and if he happens to revel in the surprised gasp it elicits, well, who really has to know?

The firm pressure of his mouth against hers wrenches the oxygen from her lungs, in a good way. A very, very _good _way. She tastes the rich burn of good whiskey in his mouth and the scent of sweat and cologne overwhelms her. And, Oliver…well, all he can taste is cinnamon and coffee and the feel of her mouth, so warm and pliant under his, it makes him a bit brainless and he makes some sort of little growly noise in the back of his throat that vibrates through her. Hands roam to politically incorrect places but it's okay, they both want this.

"Let's go." Felicity murmurs, breathless and flushed when they finally pull away for air.

"Where?" his hands slip further down, feeling for the hem of her dress.

"Back to my place to make this work."

Her salacious grin pulls the blood from his brain and he follows her willingly, even stuffing himself into the passenger seat of her car, if it means spending the night with Felicity Smoak. The next morning when Diggle dares to call him out about the suspicion of coming in with the same clothes on as the day before, Oliver leaves him flat on his back on the mats.

Three more criminals end up in Starling City penitentiary, that night. And, Arrow ends up in Felicity's bed, getting a reward for putting them there.

Oh yeah.

This is going to work.

* * *

**Beta'ed by the wonderful niagaraweasel because I'm still a relative newbie to the Arrow fandom (and, by newbie, I mean I've seen about two episodes, total), so she had to help me with the details and making sure this is in-character. Let's show my dear friend some love for being my amazing backbone in my venture into Olicity. Leave us some love, dolls! **

**Love, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**


	3. Not So Stupid Mistake

The industrial piercing had seemed like a good idea when she was eighteen. A kind of a rebellion; just the thing to match her Gothic clothes, dark hair, and loud punk music. Of course, her mother had called it a stupid mistake, but it had been _her _stupid mistake.

Years later, Oliver Queen will make a point of tracing it with his tongue when presented with the opportunity. She will make a point of wearing her arrow bar and he will nearly be driven out of his mind before he can get her home.

Oh no.

Not stupid at all.

* * *

**Challenged myself to write a story of 100 words or less and not counting this, I succeeded with a word count of exactly 100 words. Enjoy!**


	4. Nothing But A Smile

It's a teasing trail.

On the floor, near her front door is a hair tie. It's black and if Oliver picks it up, he's certain there will be a few blonde hairs wrapped around it, from when she took her meticulous ponytail down. He pockets the elastic with a smile and turns to lock the door behind him. A few steps into her apartment reveals a pin; small, and sandy in color. He continues on and finds one of her heels – magenta, a pop of color against the dark gray wool dress she had worn to work that day. He shrugs out of his jacket and tosses it on the back of her couch, where her soft sweater is also laying; a pool of magenta cotton flung haphazardly onto the cushions.

Oh.

_Oh. _

He knows. He knows exactly what Felicity Smoak is all about and he has a pretty good idea of what he'll find at the end of this trail of breadcrumbs. Hmm. Yes. Pretty good idea, indeed. He dare say it'd long been a fantasy of his to come home to a trail of clothes and Felicity waiting for him with nothing but a smile, and maybe that bar in her ear, but that was another fantasy, entirely.

Oliver nearly trips over the other heel.

Gathering himself, he continues on with his search for Felicity, and he finds her earrings on the end table; simple silver loops that had sparkled prettily when she moved her head. He reaches the doorway of her bedroom and finds her dress pooled on the floor and – _oh Lord. _There, on the floor, forming a provocative trail to the bed is her lingerie in a specific shade of red that she _knows _gets to him. Oliver Queen isn't all that big on red, usually, except for Felicity and her red wine and her affinity for red lingerie.

The trail ends with a bed and Felicity.

She's wearing nothing but a smile.

* * *

**I might have, maybe, possibly been listening to _'I Can Take It From There' _by Chris Young and - yeah, Oliver suddenly had a secret fantasy of coming home to a trail of clothes ending with Felicity wearing nothing but a smile. **


	5. Domesticity

He washes, she rinses.

While not a well-oiled machine, it is a system, or a routine, rather. One, both Oliver and Felicity rather enjoy, both because it's time spent in close proximity and because it is something mundane in comparison to their extraordinary night-life. He flicks soapy water at her and she smacks him with a towel. They laugh, talk, and share secrets they wouldn't tell anyone but each other – because, they know that nobody will ever keep secrets quite as well as each other.

He's not _Oliver Queen,_ or _Arrow_, when he's in the midst of something utterly domestic like doing the dishes or helping Felicity pile her massive amount of throw pillows back on her bed. He's just Oliver and, although he gives it the same care and attention he might some new Arrow mission, he's much more carefree and relaxed and he's much more likely to smile.

Domesticity looks good on him.


	6. Coffee and Bagels

_Felicity,_

_Diggle called – emergency in the glades. Be back soon._

_Coffee and bagels in the kitchen. Stay home, Felicity. I need you safe._

_Love you, _

_Oliver._

* * *

Safely ensconced in the warm cocoon of her comforter and body-warmed sheets, Felicity Smoak smiles around the finger clamped between her teeth. Of course, waking up on a cold morning and not having the human furnace that was Oliver Queen curled comfortably around her had been something of a disappointment but the note that had been on the pillow beside her reassures her that he hadn't left for anything short of a real emergency – Diggle wouldn't have called him, otherwise.

Groping the floor for her discarded bra from the night before, she finally finds and puts it on underneath Oliver's dress shirt before getting out of bed and going in search of the promised coffee and bagels. The coffee is still hot, packets of her favorite French Vanilla creamer litter the counter, and a bag from the little bakery down the street is stuffed with warm, fresh bagels. She retrieves her favorite mug from the pile of dishes in the sink, and pours the coffee from the cardboard to-go cup into it. She plucks her tablet from her bag, smears some cream cheese on a bagel, and carries everything into her bedroom to curse at CNN in the comfort of her bed.

They never get anything right.

"Felicity?"

His voice is soft, quiet when he walks through the door hours after leaving her tucked safely in her bed. He's afraid of waking her, should she still be sleeping. "Felicity?" the volume raises just a bit and he hears a shuffle, a muffled curse, and his name.

"Oliver!"

His dress shirt is rumpled about her small frame and her blonde hair is mussed in a way that seems to defy all laws of physics. There's a warm caramel colored liquid spilling over her knuckles and it's not guesswork to say that, that is the reason for the string of colorful expletives that left her mouth.

"Hey," he shrugs out of his leather jacket and tosses it on the back of her couch. "Dig and Roy had it handled."

"That's good." Felicity's smile is brilliant and if not for the coffee in her hand, she might have already been burrowed into him in celebration of his safe return – not that he had been in any real danger. "Thank you for the coffee. And the bagels. And the…"

"Fe-li-ci-_ty." _Oliver grins because she's just so adorable when she's rambling.

"Three. Two. One." Felicity mumbles, looking for a place to set her coffee down. When she finds one, she sets the mug down, and makes her way to him. "Oliver."

"Felicity." He teases, reaching for her. His arms slip around her small frame, tugging her close to him, because he needs her soft warmth and the feel of her body against his is something he's become rather accustomed to in the morning. She bites her bottom lip and his eyes widen marginally when she unbuttons a few of the buttons of his shirt and lets it slide off of one shoulder, revealing creamy skin and a strap of lace in a very specific shade of green.

Screw the coffee and bagels.

He'll be having Felicity Smoak with a side of green lace for breakfast.


	7. Thea Likes Felicity (for Oliver)

She knows.

Thea _"Speedy" _Queen is nothing if not in tune with her brother, but it's not like he's doing his best to hide it, exactly. He's different around Felicity – he doesn't look like the weight of the world rests solely on him. He looks relaxed and refreshed when he comes in every morning and his dark, thundering yell is becoming less frequent when something doesn't go quite the way he wants.

Roy's mood has been on a definite upswing since this newfound development with Oliver and Felicity. And, she's not going to act surprised when Oliver kisses Felicity before he leaves on a new mission to save Starling City from some new threat. Felicity's been good for Oliver – you'd have to be an idiot to miss that, and Thea thinks the sweet blonde is just what Oliver's always needed.

She takes care of him; has his favorite meal waiting for him when he comes in, patches him up when he drags himself in injured, and is there for him, emotionally and mentally. She doesn't pretend to understand his motivation but she doesn't let him put himself in unnecessary danger. More than that, she is just _there. _She is a constant in his life, and even Thea can see that Oliver lets his guard down around her.

Yes, Felicity Smoak is exactly what Oliver needs.

And, Thea Queen is going to make a point of telling him he would do well to keep her.


	8. Cold

The temperature drops.

If it dares to drop any lower than its current number, Felicity Smoak is going to declare it unholy. Or, a matter of national security. Which, she could _so _do. And, while it was likely that neither would send mercury reaching for the gold warmth of the sun, it would at least make her feel better about freezing. Okay, so, she might be exaggerating but when you're born in Las Vegas - essentially, born in a desert stuffed with casinos - it is a little difficult to adjust when the weather does a flirty little dance with temperatures below about sixty-five. Oliver laughs at her battle with the weather and she pouts at his teasing because she's certain if not for all of the leather he wears, he would be suffering too.

She still accepts his jacket, when he drapes it around her shoulders one night before grabbing his bow, and leaving with Roy and Dig. The sleeves are too loose and it hangs on her small frame to the point of possibly wrapping around it at least twice, but it's warm and it smells of Oliver and it is more than enough to keep her from shivering in the cold foundry before he returns. When he does return and they prepare to leave, she tries giving him his jacket but he won't accept it. Instead, he simply pulls it back onto her shoulders, zips it up, and accepts her offer of a kiss as a token of gratitude for the cocoon of warmth he's wrapped her in.

He holds her a little tighter that night; the temperature drops a little more.

She doesn't really care, anymore.


	9. The Staircase

He's thinking too much, or brooding.

Because, of course he is.

He's Oliver Queen.

That's practically all he's done since he returned from Lian-Yo and while, normally, Dig or even Roy might go after him - lately, Felicity is the only one who can make any sense out of whatever it is he's thinking about. His place of retreat is _The Verdant; _more specifically the stairs that lead up to the second level, when the club is dark and quiet during the day. Because of this, Thea is good friends with Felicity _(the blonde may or may not be number two on her speed dial, after Ollie), _and always knows to call the blonde if she finds her brother in the club.

Today is no different.

Dig is on the training mats with Roy, bickering in between punches, and Felicity is using the downtime to run updates and catch up on some other work. Oliver is nowhere to be seen, as usual, and while they have a pretty good idea of where he might be, they don't want to bother him. It isn't until Dig and Roy are packing up for the day, ready to go home to their girlfriends, and the former tells Felicity to wrap it up and go home, that she realizes she hasn't seen Oliver.

"Get some sleep, Felicity." Dig tugs her ponytail and laughs when she attempts to smack his hand. "Goodnight."

"Night, Dig."

It's nearly thirty minutes after the foundry door has shut behind them before she shuts her computers down and goes in search of Oliver. She finds him in his usual place, shadowed away by the darkness, and stuck in his own head. Hell, she can all but hear the gears turning. She slips out of her heels and quietly makes her way to him. When she reaches him, she eases herself into his lap, slipping her arms around his shoulders and resting her legs over one of his knees.

"Hey Felicity," his voice is soft and tired and his arms tighten around her; both to keep her from falling, and because she just feels _so good_.

"Hey." she chirps quietly; rubbing the three-day stubble that carves out his jaw. "Oliver?"

"Hmm."

"What's up?" she murmurs, tracing a sharp line up to his temple, over his eyebrow and down the bridge of his nose. "You've been up here, all day."

Oliver turns and presses a kiss into her temple; "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." her exploration of his face finishes with soft circles on his pulse point. "What's on your mind, Oliver?"

She is.

All day. He's thought about her. Her blonde hair and blue eyes and all of her lovely quirks and how he can see them clear as a bell on a little girl, and how he can so easily picture her quiet strength in the soft eyes and chubby cheeks of a little boy. He's thought about the ring he bought just yesterday, and how he was going to propose to her because he wants this woman in his life for a long, long time. He's thought about Felicity in a white dress, flowers in her hand, and curls falling in her face; about him in a tux with Dig walking his bride down the aisle before taking his place as best man. But, he's done thinking. He'd like to make it reality.

"I'd like to marry you, Felicity." Oliver murmurs against her head, listening to her breath hitch. He kisses her hair and tilts his head closer to her ear to tell her of his thoughts and plans. "I want a future and kids and _you _for the rest of my life. As my friend and hopefully as my wife. So, Felicity Megan Smoak, would you do me the incredible honor of becoming my wife?"

"Yes."

The tears mix with laughter and when they finally kiss, she tastes of salt and happiness and everything he's been missing in his life since that damn boat crashed. But, he's certain that somehow, all of that led him to where he is, made him who he is, and it is by that force that he met Felicity Smoak. For the first time in his life, Oliver Queen thanks the powers that be for whatever they did to bring Felicity into his life, because he's no longer a playboy, but a friend, a lover, and hopefully, a husband.

He looks forward to wearing that title.


	10. The Puppy

Just for the record, Oliver Queen never agreed to _this_.

Well, not technically.

At least, not until Felicity Smoak- Queen and her damn smile happened. Of course, he's taken down by something as innocent (hardly) and sweet as a smile, especially when the owner of that smile is wearing his name and a ring on her finger. This could have been avoided had he not had such a weakness for that little flash of white between dark lips, and that oh-so-endearing _"Please, Oliver?" _While he can't be certain, he thinks John Diggle might still be laughing his traitorous ass off - to which he says something obscene, but that's for another time. After they had gotten the _thing, _he had dropped Dig off at home for Lyla to deal with, while he made his way home to his own wife.

He tries not to grin when the _thing _curls up in the passenger seat.

It's a tiny little scrap of a puppy, barely qualifiable as the German Shepherd, the lady at the animal rescue place claimed it was, but it is just what Felicity would love. It's all black with awkwardly placed splotches of brown and white and the saddest little eyes. When he had seen it, he knew. It had taken him an hour to sort out the details but it was all worth it when he tucked the dopey little pup into his jacket, to protect it from the cold, and his only response was to nuzzle closer and fall asleep. When he pulls into his driveway, he can tell by the closed curtains that Felicity is still sleeping off the caffeine-fueled thirty-eight hours she had spent awake to solve their last case.

"Let's go, wake your new Mom."

The pup just yips, as if he understood, and Oliver doesn't hold back his grin this time. He carries it into the house and makes his way to the bedroom where Felicity is tucked under the blankets sleeping soundly. It barely weighs enough to be felt on the bed but the enthusiastic licking that occurs when he stumbles upon Felicity is enough to wake her.

"Hello!" her voice is still hoarse with sleep, and she fights with the blankets to reach for the little thing that is still licking her cheek. "Well, hello! Where did you come from?"

"I went and got him from the animal rescue." he takes a seat on the edge of the bed, reaching down to squeeze Felicity's knee, watching as she shifts to cradle the runt in her arms like a baby. "I have the papers in the car - he's all yours Felicity."

"But I thought you said - " Felicity looks up at him briefly but the squirming dog calls her attention.

"I know what I said but I also know that you need the company when you're at the Foundry." he reaches forward to give the puppy an affectionate scratch between the ears. "He's a German Shepherd. They had a few more but when the lady told me that he was the runt of the litter - I knew which one you'd want."

She bends down to nuzzle at the dog before looking back up at her husband - her sweet, wonderful, teddy bear of a husband - and leaning forward to press her lips against his. The kiss is brief but intimate and her message is clear. He watches her; the way her blue eyes light up when she plays with it and the way she smiles and laughs when it does something silly or clumsy. Okay. So, maybe Dig had been right - Oliver Queen may have been a bit of a pushover when it came to his wife.

That's okay, though.

Seeing her smile makes everything worth it.


	11. The Real Oliver

The picture is Felicity's dirty little secret.

He doesn't take pictures.

Doesn't like them. Cameras invade every other aspect of his life. He'd rather they not be present in the parts, he doesn't let the world see. Except for one picture, and only because he doesn't know about it. She remembers the day she took the picture. It had been the first fourth of July after they got married and everyone had shown up - Dig and Lyla, Thea had come with Roy close behind, and even Ray had made an appearance.

He had been relaxed and pleasantly social, dressed casually in a navy blue T-shirt, and a pair of shorts, with a beer in his hand and a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.

(The delicious neckline of that t-shirt had been responsible for its destruction later that night. After which, Felicity had to confess to her chest fetish.)

But, Oliver laughing is different.

Usually - and by usually, she means all the time - his laugh is insincere at best. It's half-assed and sarcastic, mocking even, and more for the sake of show than for anything. But the real thing. The genuine _Oliver _laugh is music to her ears. It's low and warm and loud and contagious. His laugh is why she'd chosen that moment, that perfect moment when the pretenses were dropped, and his guard was down, to take a picture. When he let his friends see what Starling City never does.

The real Oliver.


	12. Infertility

They try.

For a whole year, they try.

They even resort to research; five or ten Google searches of the best way to get pregnant. One method suggests so many days of celibacy and multiple ovulation tests to time it just right, another method suggests relaxing and letting it happen naturally. They tried everything - and, she does mean _everything._ If only they had more to show for it than a bunch of negative pregnancy tests and exhaustion. When it doesn't happen, they decide to go back to their schedules, their routines, and when it happened, it happened. But, it never seems to happen and Felicity grows increasingly frustrated, after her second negative pregnancy tests in as many weeks, and calls her doctor for an appointment.

"Thea, hey, it's Felicity." she's near tears on the phone with the youngest Queen, but she needs _somebody _and she doesn't know anyone else. "I need your help. I have a doctor's appointment and I - I can't go alone. Come with me, please?"

_"I'll be right there, Licity. We'll go in my car." _Thea reassures her gently, already reaching for her keys and purse. _"You don't sound as if you should be driving, right now." _

"Thank you, Thea."

God, how she wants to break down.

She wants to cry and scream and sob and hit something and just tell someone, anyone, what she's been through. How hard she's tried to give Oliver the family he wants, and how frustrating it is to read all of the negative tests. But, she doesn't. She takes a moment to compose herself, wipes the tears from her eyes, and fixes her mascara before Thea pulls into the parking garage and rings her over the intercom. Gathering her purse and cell phone, she rushes out to meet the youngest Queen, and when slips into the Prius, Thea is the picture of poised and ready.

"I called Ollie, told him where I would be." Thea smiles gently, pulling out of the garage.

"Thanks, Thea." Felicity keeps her head down.

"He knows, Licity." Thea murmurs. "He hopes this helps you."

"I know." Felicity nods, looking over at the woman. "I know that - but, I still...he's Oliver and as much as I love him. I don't want to burden him with anymore."

Thea says nothing for the rest of the ride.

It's obvious Felicity is not in the proper mental state for any sort of conversation, so she decides to just be there, when Felicity needs her. The waiting room of the doctor's office is shockingly empty, but still typical of a doctor - even, for a gynecologist. The magazines might feature articles on subjects that are more intimately female than the usual _Sports Illustrated _and _Cosmopolitan _and the colors might tip the balance a bit towards the feminine end of the spectrum, but those were about the only differences.

Felicity's doctor is nice enough, if a bit abrupt, and seemingly harsh. She'd attempted to make it very clear that Thea wasn't welcome into the room with Felicity, but the blonde had simply looped her arm through her sister-in-law's and insisted that she was family, and was most certainly welcome.

In the end, she orders bloodwork and a few other relatively non-invasive tests for Felicity.

"It'll be okay, Felicity." Thea's thumb traces over Felicity's knuckles, while the technician prepares her for bloodwork. "Oliver loves you, no matter the results."

"It's not him, I'm worried about, Thea." Felicity looks down at her lap. "It's me."

"I know."

#

The results come in a few weeks later.

Oliver is working studiously in his office when she receives the call. All of the bloodwork and the tests and everything else is all normal; the cause of her infertility is unknown. No obvious anamolies. There is no way of knowing what exactly is standing in her way. Tears cling to her lashes and when she thanks the nurse before hanging up, she has to swallow hard just to be able to get the words out. She drops her phone back onto the cradle and stands up to make her way to her husband's office.

"Oliver?" she knocks lightly on the doorframe, to get his attention.

"Hey Felicity." he breathes tiredly, looking up at her with bleary eyes, as he drops his pen on the desk and stands up to make his way over to her. It only takes him a second's observation to notice the tears and the overall devastation wearing down on her features. "The doctor called, didn't she?"

"No - no, um, no obvious anamolies." Felicity murmurs, looking down to keep him from seeing the way her bottom lip quivers violently. "She does - she doesn't know what's wrong."

She tenses, bracing for the worst.

But, it never happens. She wants it, needs it, though. She _wants _him to get angry, to yell, to blame her. To make the burden that much heavier. Instead, he simply takes her into his arms and his hand strokes her back as he presses his face into her hair. The feel of damp warmth on the top of her head is all she needs and she crumples into him, sobbing into his chest, for the baby that they might never have. For the family, they might never be able to build.

"I'm sorry, Oliver." Felicity pulls away abruptly, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry."

"For what, Felicity?" the sudden change in behavior confuses him. His hands wrap lightly around her biceps and his signature elongation of her name slips out before he can stop it. "Fe-lic-ity."

"I can't give you a family, I can't give you the next Queen heir." she's rambling - of course, she wouldn't be Felicity if she didn't - but, he finds he couldn't care less about producing the next Queen heir. That is not his concern.

His wife is.

"Hey," he cuts her off sharply. "Felicity Meghan Queen, listen to me. I don't care. It is not, nor will it ever be, the only reason I married you. Your sole responsibility is not to give me children." he softens, taking her face into his hands, thumbing the tears from her cheeks. "Yes, okay, I wanted - want children with you. I do. But, I never said how because it's never mattered to me if you carry our child or we adopt him or her or surrogacy or however else. He or she will be our child, no matter how he or she comes into our life. We have other options, Felicity."

"I don't want other options." her bottom lip trembles again. "I wanted to give you a family."

"I have a family, Felicity." Oliver smiles tenderly, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers, his hands falling to her shoulders. "I have you and I have my sister. And, Dig and Lyla and Sara. Even your mother. We have a family."

"Are you sure?" Felicity sniffles.

"Yes."

"This - this is not something you are responsible for, Felicity." Oliver reassures her firmly, but his voice is soft and for her ears only. "I want you to be happy and healthy and I don't want this to make you feel like there is something wrong with you. There is _nothing _wrong with you. You are my girl. I dare anyone, your doctor included, to question that. I love you, Felicity. No questions."

"I love you, too, Oliver." Felicity wipes the tears from her eyes, lashes forming soft black crescents against her cheeks. "I'm sorry for freaking out on you."

"It's alright." he laughs, lifting his head, eyes all bright blue and affectionate. "Just promise me something?"

"Anything."

"Promise me, you'll never change." Oliver speaks reverently.

"I promise."

#

_One year later._

The adoption center is buzzing with activity.

In a rocking chair in the corner, a sweet lady with soft eyes is quietly reading a book about a teddy bear to a group of children, watching her with rapt attention. There's a woman with a baby boy stretched across her front in a green paisley sling, humming to him while she sorts through papers, looking down occasionally to coo at him. Different playrooms are marked with signs for specfic age groups make up the long corridor, just off to Oliver's left. They're standing in front of the door, waiting patiently for the social worker, who will guide them through the adoption process.

"My name's Rosanna. I'll be your social worker through the adoption process." she's a slip of a woman, with a smile as bright as her eyes, holding the hand of a girl, who can't be anymore than three. "And this is Charlotte. You must be Oliver and Felicity."

"Nice to meet you." Oliver greets the woman, while Felicity kneels down to greet the little girl.

"Hi Charlotte. My name's Felicity."

Charlotte's eyes brighten, "Hi!"

"How about we take you back and let you get to know miss Charlotte?" Rosanna suggests, kneeling down to talk to the little girl. "Would you like to play with Oliver and Felicity?"

"Yes, Miss Ro." Charlotte nods happily.

Felicity stands up and turns toward her husband, who just nods, and motions for her to follow Rosanna and Charlotte. They're led down a different corridor and into a private room with dark oak furniture and toys for children of various ages. While Rosanna speaks quietly to Oliver about the circumstances around them seeking adoption, Felicity takes a seat in the old rocking chair. Charlotte immediately seeks her out and climbs into her lap, little fingers tangling in the necklace around her neck.

" - Felicity is one of the few people I call my best friend." Oliver speaks so fondly of his wife, Rosanna almost wants to ask what the catch is, but there doesn't seem to be one. "We both want children, but we were unable to conceive. So, we explored all of our options before deciding to adopt. Our whole family is one we've adopted for ourselves, so it seemed like the perfect choice."

Loud, happy giggles catch their attention and they look over to see Charlotte and Felicity rubbing their noses together and fluttering their eyelashes in a facsimile of the childhood "eskimo kiss". Oliver just laughs quietly and Rosanna just shakes her head with a fond smile. "That's the happiest Charlotte's been since she got here."

"Felicity has that affect on people."

"Well, I'll leave you alone to get to know Charlotte." Rosanna excuses herself politely, even though Oliver can hear the scream of a baby, probably waiting for a bottle, from down the hall.

When the door closes behind her, Oliver turns to his wife and hopefully adoptive daughter. Felicity has the girl in stitches with her rapid-fire speech and the three-year-old hangs onto every word, looking at her as if the blonde hung the moon in the sky. She catches his eye and her chubby little hands motion him closer, "Hi, I'm Charlotte!"

"Hi Charlotte." Oliver laughs, kneeling down at Felicity's knees. "I'm Oliver."

"Ollllie!"

Oh.

Wow.

Charlotte is almost a miniature Thea; from the way her hair falls in her face to the sweet green of her eyes and the way she immediately shortens his name from Oliver to Ollie. Even her mannerisms remind him of Thea. He still remembers the first time Thea called him Ollie, instead of Oliver. She couldn't have been older than five at the time and he had been almost fifteen, when she had given him the sweetest little look and asked him if he'd buy her an ice cream from the truck driving down the street.

"Are you gonna be my new Mommy?" tears burn Felicity's eyes as she rocks the three-year-old gently. "I want you to be my new Mommy."

A silent agreement passes between Oliver and Felicity.

Yes.

Charlotte is their daughter. Maybe not biologically, or legally - yet, but in all the ways that count, she is already their daughter. This little three year old girl has them captivated, and while Felicity would love nothing more to adopt every single child in this center, it just isn't possible.

"I'm going to try, Liv." she smiles at the little girl; all brown curls and sweet green eyes. "Would you like that?"

"Yes!" Charlotte bounces enthusiastically. "And, Ollie can be my new Daddy."

"Absolutely."


	13. Scars

It's a hot, sticky night, even with the air conditioner working over-time.

To make themselves comfortable, and in hopes that sleep will come a little easier despite the heat, Oliver has stripped down to his boxers and Felicity is stretched out comfortably in a pair of simple cotton boy shorts in a color that falls somewhere between stained glass blue and deep amethyst, and a black sports bra. While she has seen him without his shirt on before, he is usually doing some form of exercise and his body is only glimpses of rippling skin and rivulets of sweat rolling down his back. Any other time, he is either dressed in a button down, a t-shirt, or that leather get-up that she wants him to wear home sometime, just to, ahem, play out a fantasy of hers.

Oliver Queen is far more self-conscious than the public eye is aware of.

The collars and buttons and ties and decided lack of shirtless beach photos are not just to prove he is no longer a playboy. It is to hide what he'd rather not have the entire world see. Five years on Lian-Yu hadn't been kind to him and it's not that he is ashamed of those scars - he isn't. He is scared. Of judgement, of misunderstanding, of people not understanding at all, where they came from. He can explain each and every one of them and exactly when he acquired them - those just aren't memories he's terribly fond of.

Until Felicity, of course.

He's never told her all of it; just the parts that didn't hurt so much. The stupid stuff; diving wrong and cutting his arm on the jagged edge of a coral reef, or cutting the inside of his thumb while scaling a fish for dinner that one particularly bad day on Lian-Yu. Little things, didn't mean much. But the big stuff, the stuff that hurts, _that _is what he's never told her. He never thought he'd tell her. Hell, for all he knew, he'd go to his grave with the secrets of Lian-Yu. And, Felicity, bless her, has never asked.

Although, he does catch her tracing one, sometimes. Whichever one is within her grasp, but her favorite (and, the spot he didn't know was all that erogenous) is the jagged bolt of a scar on his shoulder. She traces it when she's laying on his chest, ear pressed just so in order to hear his heart-beat. Sometimes, if neither of them can sleep, or sometimes after sex (his favorite because his body is still thrumming with aftershocks and sensitive and _dear God_, it feels so damn good), she'll let her finger trace the edge of the scar where the nerve endings dance beneath her fingertips.

She's doing it now, actually, in a half-hearted attempt to lull them both into a state of semi-unconsciousness.

"Yao Fei," he doesn't know what he's doing, but the name rolls off of his tongue, not entirely unbidden but the memory is still painful. "Good man. Taught me everything I know about archery. He was a master, but...he was doomed. Lian Yu was his prison. Sent there for crimes he didn't even committ." he clears his throat, because if he doesn't, and he keeps going, he's going to break down. "He put an arrow in my shoulder, for my own protection."

He draws an invisible circle around the joint where her arm meets her shoulder with his thumb.

Instinct, maybe.

Still feels the sharpened tip of the arrow piercing his skin, the rushing burn, coiling around the need to protect Felicity. He doesn't want her to experience what he did, or even a fraction, of what he was forced to endure. He doesn't want her to know what it was like to be in purgatory. To have every thought inside your head pound at your skull, to question every moral and belief, and everything you've ever known. He doesn't want the pain and the blood to taint the good memories.

But, the memories still come.

Burning, pushing, _shoving _their way into his conscious mind, flooding him with snapshots of the past.

So, he tells her.

Describes every single detail of every single thing he remembers and even as she tells him she wishes things could have happened differently, he knows that nothing else, no other way would have led him to her. And, he needs her. She is that light that Sara had told him, someone would bring out of him. She believes in him, when nobody else seems to, opens him up to the idea that he deserves to be happy, and in her, he sees his future.

"I..." his words drop off in exhaustion, and he edges on being asleep, but there's more he has to say. "I couldn't have done that without you, 'Licity."

"I know, Oliver." Felicity presses a kiss into the expanse of flesh beneath her cheek before nuzzling her face into his neck and covers his shoulder scar with her hand. "Go to sleep, okay?"

"Love you." Oliver murmurs, burying a hand in her blond hair.

"Love you, too."

He feels the warmth of her palm covering that same scar, the entire night. When he wakes, he'll realize that he's never slept as soundly, nor has he ever felt as warm and safe and _loved _as he does when Felicity is laying next to him, hand pressed into a scar, as if to ward off the nightmares that torture him when he's sleeping.

And, it feels _really _good.


	14. Birthday

"Happy Birthday, Oliver."

His skin is warm, firm, beneath her mouth; voice lost against his shoulder.

Pulling herself up slightly, she glides her fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp with her nails in that way she knows he loves. She presses a kiss into his head before she's sliding back down again, and her fingers find the deep, jagged scars that roughly form an 'H' on his right shoulder blade. Felicity's always wondered about his scars, especially the ones on his back. The curious way they always look so pink and irritated make her wonder if he walks around in constant pain, but chooses to keep quiet.

It takes her a moment to rid herself of the thought, before she can return to her previous ministrations. Her fingers lightly trace the shape of the scar, feeling the muscles twitch under her gentle touch, but a quick peek confirms that he is still very much asleep. Good. She'd hate for him to wake up before she's finished her exploration. A gentle scrape of her fingernails and she's biting her lip to contain the giggles at the way his muscles jump and ripple.

The sun isn't up, yet.

Won't be for a couple of hours.

Hell, there's a good ten hours left before John and Lyla arrive with Thea and little Sara to help Oliver celebrate his birthday. And, Felicity is more than okay with that. She needs this time with her husband. After everything with Thea and Malcom and Ra's and the League, she needs some time alone to rediscover her beloved Oliver. She needs to know that he is still Oliver, with all of his little scars and imperfections and tenderness.

She needs time to rediscover his protective hold, and the strength of his arms around her body. Wants to rediscover the storm of ice in his eyes, and the tenderness in his touch, when he rubs her back. She wants, needs, to hear him whisper declarations of love in her ear, as he moves his hips in tender accordance with his words. She wants to feel the hot rush of adrenaline when he comes back from being Starling City's vigilante, and he needs the feel of her writhing beneath him, the hot arousal of her body, pushing away the memories of criminals that had forced his hand.

"You probably can't hear me," tears burn, and her hand, once eager and enthusiastic, pause, fingers splayed over the web of scars across his lower back. "But, I'm glad you're still Oliver." her other arm, bent at the elbow, is holding her weight and it is with that hand, that she rubs circles on that joint where arm and shoulder meet. "Al Sah-him wasn't you. He was cold and cruel. You aren't. You're warm and selfless," she buries her face in his back, breathing in the scent of leather and soap and sweat that lingers.

It comforts her.

A heavy, musty reminder that he is _there. _

"And, you're brave." she presses her mouth into his skin, kissing, licking along the jagged edges and neat lines of scar tissue and tattoo that mar the left side of his back. "You're strong and smart and you married me. You could have had anyone, you wanted and you chose me."

Hot moisture pools on his skin.

It takes a minute for her to realize that he's not sweating - why would he be? the air conditioner keeps it cold - but, rather, it's from her. She is crying against his back, tears streaming down her face, and her vision is a blur; a haze of salty liquid and Oliver Queen. She's not sure why - why she chose today of all days, her husband's birthday, to have an emotional meltdown for the record books but she has and there's nothing to be done about it now.

"Hmmm."

The soft moan vibrates through him and as much as she'd like a moment to compose herself, she knows her husband. He'll see right through whatever facade she tries to put up, even when he's still half-asleep. Oliver rolls slightly, settling onto his back, before looking up at his wife, eyes still bleary with sleep. "Hey," her voice is thick, watery, and he notices. Of course, he does. What kind of husband would he be, if he didn't? "Happy Birthday."

"'Licity," his hand brushes her cheek, thumbing the tears from her bottom lashes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Fel-i-_city_." he drawls hoarsely, hand still on her cheek. "Tell me?"

"You're here. With me." Felicity tilts into his touch; reminiscent of a day not too long ago when he had touched her in a similar fashion and she, high on oxycodone, had leaned into him. He's warm and tender and always just what she needs. "You're not Al Sah-him. You didn't take Ra's Al Ghul's place. You're still Oliver."

His hand slips into her hair, fingers knotting in the tangle of blonde curls just at her temple. "You're right, Felicity." he murmurs, wrapping his other arm around her and tugging her on top of him. "I am still Oliver. I will always be Oliver." his smile is soft, genuine. "Your Oliver. Al Sah-him - he's a ghost. A shell. I can't be a shell. Not while I'm in love with you. You gave me my life back, 'Licity."

"Damn you." Felicity laughs, strangles, really, around the lump in her throat. "I just - I love you, Oliver."

"And, I love you, Felicity."

His lips are dry but soft when they press against hers. It's a push-pull game they play, and ultimately it is Oliver who wins (though, Felicity will insist she let him win because it is his birthday). His hands slide to her ribs and he braces her against him as he slowly sits up, forcing her to move her legs so they're locked around his waist. It's slow and sensual, this battle, and neither of them try to win because it's an exercise in futility to think one will ever have more dominance than the other.

"Oliver!"

Arms unconsciously tighten as her gasp buzzes down his spine.

She doesn't call him Ollie.

Both Laurel and Sara had called him Ollie, and while he had been enough of a gentleman to not tell them, he had _loathed _that nickname, when it came from anyone but his sister. Not Felicity, though. She can even tell him why. Because, she didn't know _Ollie_. She knows _Oliver _and that will always be enough for her. His mouth drags an erotic trail along her jaw, and his tongue flicks at her earlobe, before he's all lips, tongue, and teeth on that one spot behind her ear that drives her mad. She gasps into his hair, hips grinding, crashing against his, and her nails dig into his shoulder.

"How attached are you to this t-shirt?" Oliver growls against her neck.

"It's yours."

"I can buy another one." is all he says, before the robin's egg blue cotton is ripped down the front, and tossed somewhere over her shoulder.

She can't help but laugh at his enthusiasm.

It's picturesque, really.

Her, the gorgeous blonde, head tilted back with laughter, arms wrapped around her husband, straddling him. And, he is the loving husband, arms snug around his wife, as he smiles up at her, clearly happy to see her laugh. It's been far too long since he's seen Felicity, his beautiful Felicity, exhilarated to the point of laughter and flushing pink with unrestrained happiness. It only takes him a few seconds to flip them around so she's pressed into the mattress and the flat plains of his body are nudging intimately against her curves and his hands are groping for whatever part of her, he can reach.

_Dear God. _

Ecstasy. Hot, raw, pure ecstasy.

It's hot and passionate and rough and she's sweaty and tired by the time she reaches completion, but it is so worth it, just to have him with her. _Him. _Nobody else. Just him. Not Al Sah-him. Not Wareeth Al-Ghul. And, as much as she'd like to force feed Ra's Al Ghul a couple dozen of Oliver's arrows, she knows if not for the crazy bastard and Oliver's self-sacrificing mentality, she might never have told Oliver she loved him. She might not be wearing a ring and her last name might still be Smoak.

Yes.

Happy Birthday, Oliver, indeed.


	15. John Diggle

"You should ask him, Felicity."

"What?"

Her small hands pause over the keyboard, and her head tilts back to get a better look at her ridiculously in shape fiance, hanging precariously from one arm in the rafters. Casual conversation had been overtaken by wedding plans. After their unconventional but perfect staircase engagement, neither Oliver and Felicity wanted the hassle of planning a large wedding or taking a year to do so, nor do they want a particularly long engagement. It hadn't taken them long to settle on a small, comfortable wedding with only their friends and family, with a dinner at John and Lyla's to follow as a reception of sorts.

"You should ask John." lowering himself from the rafters, he plucks his sweat towel from the bar on the salmon ladder, and makes his way over to his soon-to-be wife. "He'll do it."

"Do what?" she's never been good at playing dumb - it has nothing to do with her IQ, either. Rather, because Oliver had always been the one person she's transparent too. She can't pretend in front of him, and maybe one day, she'd stop trying. Until then, she'll pull the dumb card and pretend she has no idea what he's talking about. "What are you talking about, Oliver?"

Oliver quirks an eyebrow, snapping the sweat towel between his hands as he drawls her name out in that way he does. "Fe-li-city."

"What?" Felicity holds up her hands in mock surrender. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes, you do." He drops the towel on the desk, and steps over the tangle of wires on the floor to get around her desk. He grabs her shoulder and spins her around in her chair to face him, before kneeling down in front of her, holding the arms of her chair. "Felicity."

Her hands fall to her lap, wringing restlessly, because she doesn't know what to do with them. It'd be all too easy to make a joke, to say something inappropriate, but she can't, because her eyes sting with tears and there is no joke inappropriate enough to make this go away. To cover up how vulnerable this makes her feel. "I don't have a Dad."

He won't even pretend to know how hard this must be for her.

She doesn't do this.

She doesn't open up about her family, and it's not because she doesn't want to, but because she doesn't have any family aside from her mother. While, they don't see each other that much, he happens to know that Donna and Felicity love each other a great deal. Felicity is Donna's baby, and as much as Felicity would like to distance herself from her mother, when it comes right down to it, the Smoak women would take bullets for each other without a second thought.

But, Felicity doesn't know what it's like to have a father or what it's like to be Daddy's little girl, or to ask him to walk her down the aisle.

"I know." Oliver reaches up to stroke her cheek. "I know."

"Dig - he's the closest I've come," Felicity pulls her glasses off and wipes at her eyes. "All I've ever known as a father is what John Diggle has been to me."

"So, ask him."

"Will he say yes?" Felicity's uncertainty has nothing to do with the question and everything to do with her fear of rejection. Her fear of being rejected by her only father figure. She's already been abandoned by her biological father, and to have Diggle say no, would hurt her even more.

"He'd have to be on his death bed to say no." Oliver smiles tenderly, leaning up to kiss her forehead. "C'mon. I'll drive."

xxx

"Oliver! Felicity!"

Lyla Diggle's happy smile and Sara's toothless little giggle greet them when the front door swings open. Chubby little arms immediately reach for Oliver, who gladly scoops the baby up into his arms, and is off in his own little world with the girl, laughing and cooing at everything she does because she's just so damn cute. With her arms free, Lyla wastes no time in wrapping Felicity in a warm hug. She can't say she's not surprised when the blonde woman relaxes into it, clinging to her as if hugging her mother.

"You alright?" her soft murmur into the younger woman's hair is one of concern. "You seem shaken?"

"I need to talk to John," is Felicity's weak response. "If that's okay?"

"Of course." Lyla smiles gently, releasing her hold on the blonde. "Felicity, are you alright?"

"Yeah - just, rough morning."

"Okay. I'll get John." Lyla squeezes her affectionately before disappearing down the hall to retrieve her husband. "Johnny!"

It isn't long before John emerges from the depths of the Diggle home, looking well rested and refreshed, obviously happy to have some time at home. It was a rarity these days, but he enjoyed the time he did get to spend with his wife and daughter. He can't help but laugh at the sight of Oliver Queen laying on his couch, baby Sara on his chest, bobbing her head and drooling on his t-shirt. But, it is Felicity, who is still by the front door, arms wrapped around herself, and eyes looking anywhere but at him, that remains his priority at the moment.

"Hey," he sidesteps an end table to get to her, reaching out to give her arm an affectionate squeeze. "Lyla said you needed to talk to me. What's up?"

"Let's go outside." Felicity motions to his front porch. "I'd rather not have an audience."

"Okay."

The oak porch swing is a bit of a cliche but Lyla had requested it, and who was he to say no? Felicity is silent, barely even uttering a squeak when his weight shifts the swing backwards a bit. It doesn't take a genius to know it's best to wait her out. Unless, you're Oliver, but that's different. So, they sit in silence, swinging hypnotically until she's ready to talk about whatever it is that's on her mind.

"Dig?" she absently thumbs the engagement in a nervous spiral around her finger.

"Felicity?" Diggle copies her patiently.

"I don't have a father." oh God, it had been hard enough going through this with Oliver, how the hell was supposed to go through this with him? It hurts and the salty sting in her eyes only reinforces that fact. "I don't know what having a father is like. But, I know what having you in my life is like, and if that's what a father is, well, then I'm damn lucky."

"Felicity - "

She twists, fidgeting in her seat, until she's staring at his profile. "You're it, Dig. You're all I know about what a father should be." oh, those damn tears. Although, from the looks of it, he isn't doing much better than she is. "I already sent out the invitations, it's too late to change that, but there is one thing I can change. I was going to walk down the aisle alone. Just me. I was going to hold flowers and smile and do it on my own but I don't want that."

"Felicity, what you're asking..." John shakes his head in disbelief, not because he plans on saying no - there is no way in hell he's passing this up - but, rather, because he can't believe he is her first choice. "There's your mother, or Roy, or even Quentin."

"I don't want them, Dig." Felicity holds firm. She _will _walk down the aisle on John Diggle's arm, even if she has to twist it to get him to agree. "I'm sure they would be great, and I'm sure they would do it but I want you. John Andrew Diggle, would you do me the honor of walking me down the aisle?"

Taking her hands in his, both to warm them up, and because this is a matter which requires some show of affection on both of their parts, he meets her eyes and offers her a smile. "Felicity Meghan Smoak, the honor would be all mine."

And, it is then that John Diggle's face splits into the widest grin Felicity has ever seen. Without need of instruction, or fair warning, she practically launches herself into his arms, an endless string of "Thank you's" pouring from her. The swing rocks shakily and he has to plant his feet on the ground to stabilize it as he wraps his arms around his best friend's fiance and presses a kiss into her hair. There is no need for such gratitude but she wouldn't be Felicity.

Her excitement, however, doesn't keep Oliver from getting smacked in the shoulder when he says, "I told you, so."

* * *

**So, I realizes that my timeline for these things is pretty, well, screwed up so I'm going to clarify it. If a story takes place after the events of the last part of season three, it will be relatively obvious and/or I will state as such. If it is an alternate universe entirely, it will be obvious and/or I will state as such. If I have not said, or it cannot be determined, you can assume that it takes place before the last half of season three. Thank you, and...have a nice day?**

**Love ya, **

**RobertDowneyJrLove**


	16. Dealing With A Demon

"So, we're just not gonna talk about it?"

Apron around her waist, towel in her hand. Typical American housewife. Except for the bar in her ear, glasses perched cutely on her nose, and an IQ that could wipe out Albert Einstein's. Even so, she still plays up the cliche when she latches onto the idea that she is capable of producing something edible, even though Oliver knows that she _cannot _cook anything that requires more skill than ramen noodles. He's ignoring her, though. Despite the dress, and the apron, that swishes prettily around her knees and the way her blonde hair is steadily falling out of the bun, she threw it in and the way her eyes seem bluer behind her glasses.

He knows what she wants to talk about.

He's known for a while, it would come up; just hadn't been expecting it to come up like this. And, he's just not in the mood. "Fe-lic-ity." his drawl should serve as a warning to drop it, but he knows her. She won't. She'll push and prod and poke until he gives in and gives her what she wants.

"O-li-ver." Felicity mimicks easily, crossing her arm over her chest. "You have to talk about it, sometime."

"What is there to talk about?" Oliver plays the confusion card, because it's all he has. She knows all of his other tricks, maybe even this one, but it's worth a shot. "I'm fine, Felicity."

"No, Oliver, you are not."

"Felicity, now is not a good time." he shakes his head wearily. "Just...don't."

"When is it ever a good time, Oliver? I've been waiting for three damn days!" Felicity cries foul. Good ol' Oliver. Got an excuse for everything. And, if he doesn't have one, he'll make one up just to avoid situtations that make him uncomfortable or vulnerable. "You can't avoid this, Oliver Jonas Queen! You're going, if I have to tie you up and drag you, myself. And don't think I won't. I will. I have the power. Well, maybe not the physical strength," her hip juts outward and her eyes wander off in thought. "But I'm sure Dig could help. And, I'm sure Roy would come out of hiding if it meant being able to tie you up."

"Felicity!" Her jump of fright does little to soften him because, dear God. Will she just be quiet for two seconds? Sometimes, he can't think straight around her. He glares at her through half-lidded eyes and she feels like she should have a dagger of ice piercing her, right now, from the chill of it. "I told you, I'm not in the mood for this conversation! Now, will you please let it go?"

"No!"

"Why not?" Oliver growls and it's feral and dangerous and she's pushing him. She knows she is, but she stands her ground, even as his wild temper flares.

"Because, you need help!" Felicity snaps, tossing the kitchen towel on the couch. "You deal with this all on your own. Even when we tell you, you don't have to. You insist on dealing with it. But, Oliver, it's time to admit the truth!"

"What truth?"

She's certain if his voice gets any louder, the nosy neighbor next door is going to call the cops. This isn't how she wanted this to go; it was supposed to be a calm, rational conversation, not an argument full of roaring and yelling and Oliver growing angrier by the second. If she's being honest, he's starting to scare her, and she really regrets pushing it, this far.

"The truth that when I came home the other night, you were huddled in the corner with a knife in your hand." It hurts her to do this to him. To make him face a reality, neither of them ever asked for, but the truth is, her husband isn't well, and he hasn't been for a very long time. "I love you, Oliver. You. Oliver Jonas Queen. Not the Arrow, or Al Sah-him, or Ollie. I love you. But, the fact is, Oliver, you aren't okay. And, maybe you haven't been for a while."

The truth hurts.

Damn, does it hurt, even when you know you had to face it sooner or later. Oliver can't say he didn't want it to be later, rather than sooner, but he knows he can't avoid it, any longer. Not when it puts Felicity in danger. Felicity is the better part of who he is; she's the one who can harness whatever light is left in him and show him that he's still a good person. She is the person who knows him best, who knows all of hi little quirks and habits, and doesn't fault him for them. She loves him for who he is and that's what he needs.

He can't afford to lose her.

He's afraid he'd lose what little bit of sanity he has left, if he lost Felicity.

"I know." Oliver hangs his head. "I know. I'm sorry, 'Licity. You deserve better."

"From you, yes." she's never been one to mince words, but she will soften the blow. "But, when it comes to guys...well, I like my men a little broken."

"Did I hurt you?" he doesn't want to know, but he has to. He has to know that he didn't lash out and hurt her during that last episode. He'd been hanging on by a very loose thread, and if he'd lashed out and hurt her - well, he's certain he wouldn't standing here, right now.

"Not physically. Emotionally, I imagine we're both damaged in some way." Felicity shrugs, making her way over to him. "I don't want anyone else, Oliver. I want you, back. I know you're probably messed up and that's okay, I am too. But, I know that the real Oliver - the Oliver that married me is still in there. Where did he go? Why are you hiding from me? I'm just Felicity. You don't have to hide from me."

"I know." his voice is softer, now, hoarse with a vulnerability he's not used to. "He's still here, he just got lost. Could you - could you give me time to get back to that guy?"

"Yes."

"It may take a while." Oliver whispers.

"I'll be here." Felicity smiles, wiping at her eyes. She's not sure when the tears started but she doesn't care because Oliver's face is wet too. "I'm always here, Oliver. I just miss my husband."

"I miss you, too."

Nothing else is said.

The truth has been acknowledged and tomorrow, he'll take the necessary steps to find himself again. He'll work his way through therapy until he finds what works best - he's certain, it'll involve having Felicity with him. But, for now, he needs his wife. He scoops her up in his arms, clinging to her as if his life depends on her existence. Oliver revels in her soft warmth and the way her head fits perfectly into the crook of his neck and the way her hands play in the hair at the nape of his neck.

And, for the first time in a long time, Oliver Queen takes a deep breath.

Yes.

He can beat this demon.


	17. Mending

For the record, Oliver Queen doesn't recommend taking sword to, well, anywhere. _But, _when the man behind a series of vicious attacks on an undeserving family is a blathering buffoon, and you really have had enough of this complete and utter bullshit, then you might walk into it without thinking and hand-to-hand combat turns into a brutal fight between a gleaming Katana and a bow and arrow.

He had gotten out with a sizable gash just under his fourth rib, and the other guy was carted away in a body bag, after an arrow pierced his jugular. He hadn't been aiming for that particular area but anger is a powerful emotion and it had clouded his judgment.

No.

No, sorry.

His judgment hadn't been clouded at all. He had done what was necessary to walk away from the situation with all of his extremities, limbs, and organs in their proper places. Of course, on the table when Felicity is growling certain obscenities, he'd rather not repeat while stitching him up - he'll have one hell of a time explaining that. It's okay, though. She'll listen, however impatiently, and she'll understand. She knows how he feels about family. He's already lost most of his, he'd rather not let somebody else lose theirs.

And, anyway.

In about a month's time, they'll have little Charlotte to think about.


	18. Charlotte Queen

"Ollie! 'Licity!"

"Both the Queens in one tiny package."

Oliver just rolls his eyes at his wife's antics, but even he can't contain a smile on such a joyous occasion. A judge had declared Charlotte's adoption official the day before; a signature scrawled on a piece of paper declaring that Oliver Jonas Queen, and his legal spouse, Felicity Megan Queen, were the parents and legal guardians of one, Charlotte Maverick Johnston. While it would be another month for the name change process to go through the legal system, they were just looking forward to having her home at this stage in the whole process. It is by pure coincidence - or, so she said, during a thirty-second interrogation - that it's happening the day before Felicity's birthday.

Nevertheless, they are thrilled to be taking her home.

The sweet little bundle of brown hair and green eyes crashes into Oliver's knees, nose nuzzled into his jeans. "Hey Charli!" he scoops her up into his arms, giving her cute little orange cotton covered tummy a tickle. "You ready to go home?"

"Yes!"

Felicity tilts her head, curiously reading the bold black print on Charli's shirt. "Cool shirt, Charli."

"I had it made for her." Rosanna smiles, making her way to Charlotte's new parents. "Whenever a child gets adopted, it always cause for celebration so I make them a t-shirt. It has her new last name, her adoptive parents, and the day she got to leave this place. Sometimes, it's as much for the parents as it is for the kids."

Her blue eyes fill with tears behind her glasses, and Felicity can't help but grin at Rosanna. "Thank you, Rose."

"It's nothing, Felicity."

"Yes, it is. You are the one who helped us through this entire process." Felicity smiled, reaching out to squeeze the brunette's arm. "Thank you for being our friend. What'll happen to her room, now?"

"You're welcome, Felicity. And, her room will be given to the only other little girl in her age group." Rosanna returns her affectionate squeeze, before turning to Charlotte. "I'm gonna miss this little munchkin."

Oliver smiles down at his daughter (_God, it felt good to say that) _and gives her a gentle nudge. "You want to say goodbye to Miss Ro?"

No further encouragement is needed as Charlotte stretches her little arms out and pulls Rosanna in for a tight hug. They exchange quiet, but teary goodbyes, before Charlotte retreats into the warmth of Oliver's arms, nuzzling into his chest, with a strange sort of familiarity. He doesn't hesitate to cuddle her close and kiss her head, swaying back and forth in a hypnotic motion, while Felicity sorts out the details. It is almost instinctive for him to know what comforts her, even if the only experience he has with children is with Thea, and there was another child - a boy, but that's a painful memory.

"Oliver," Felicity's soft voice breaks him from his reverie. "We need your signature."

"Oh. Right."

He scrawls his name on all the proper papers, releasing Charli into their care, while she remains perfectly content snuggled against his chest. With one final goodbye to Rosanna, they leave the adoption agency and foster facility. Felicity buckles Charlotte into her booster seat, and presses a tender kiss into the little girl's head before climbing into the passenger seat. It is silently and unanimously agreed upon to venture into town and pay a visit to the children's stores for some child necessities.

xxx

It is six _long _hours later, before they finally decide to head home.

Charlotte's new bedroom set will be arriving in the morning, but until such a time, she'll be borrowing the smaller of the two guest beds. Oliver and Felicity had mostly let her pick out the things she wanted, except for her bedroom furniture. It had taken some time to convince her that _no, _her entire wardrobe did _not, _in fact, need to consist solely of the color orange. When they had managed to do so without achieving total meltdown status, they managed a couple of outfits, along with the necessary underwear (_Brave, _because Merida is her favorite), socks, shoes, and pajamas(anything orange), with plans for Felicity to bring her back in a couple of days to purchase more.

A couple of books and toys were purchased before heading home to settle in for the night. They pick up Chinese take-out, with an extra order of Lo-Mein noodles and an extra egg roll, along with a cheese pizza, to figure out what exactly Charlotte likes. While Oliver is making the necessary phone calls to inform their friends and family that they are her legal parents, Felicity has Charlotte giggling in the backseat. By the time, he pulls the car into the drive, they are both near tears with laughter, and Oliver can't help but laugh with them.

"Okay, Charli. Wait here." Oliver sets his little girl down at his feet and reaches into the backseat to retrieve her new _Brave _themed backpack. He watches Felicity for a moment, struggling to juggle all the bags. "'Licity, let's eat, and get her settled before we unpack the car."

"Got it."

He sees her blonde head heading for the door, a bag of food, and a pizza box in one hand, keys and purse in the other. He hands Charli her backpack before scooping her up and closing the car door. Felicity is in the middle of unlocking the door when they come up behind her. He reaches around her and unlocks the door before pushing it open and ushering her in. Felicity heads to the kitchen with the food, while Oliver carries Charlotte to her room to put her stuff away.

"Here we are, Liv." Oliver lowers her to the floor and kneels down to talk to her. "It doesn't look like much, now, but your new furniture will be here tomorrow, okay?"

"Kay, Ollie."

"Okay." Oliver smiles, gently tugging her backpack from her hand and propping it up against the door. He stands up to his full height and looks down at the miniature Thea. "Now, let's go eat some dinner."

"Din din?" she reaches for his hand enthusiastically. "With 'Licity?"

"Yeah." he laughs, holding her little hand all the way to the kitchen.

"Noodles, or pizza?" Felicity holds up the box of noodles, while simultaneously pointing to the pizza box with her set of chopsticks, when her husband and daughter enter the kitchen.

"Noodllles!" Charli drawls, wrapping a small arm around Oliver's leg, who just places a hand on the top of her head, absently rubbing it.

"Noodllles!" Felicity parrots in a sing-song voice, scooping some noodles onto an appropriate child-sized plate. "Egg-roll?"

"Please!"

Felicity drops the egg roll on the plate and turns to retrieve silverware, and a glass to pour Charlotte her drink of choice. "Drink, Charli?" she tugs the fridge door open. "We have milk, orange juice, or...Oliver, we need to go grocery shopping!"

"Juice!"

"Juice, coming up." Felicity mutters, mentally compiling a list of things to get from the grocery store.

With drinks and dinner handled, Oliver, Felicity, and the newest little Queen, make their way into the living room to watch a movie. Apparently, Charli is a four-year-old with a voracious appetite, eating everything on her own plate, and stealing bites of Oliver's chicken, and Felicity's vegetables. By the time they finish dinner, and the credits are rolling on the movie, she is snuggled between them, leaning heavily into Oliver's warmth, but still clinging to Felicity as if she's afraid the blonde will disappear.

"I think it's time a certain little munchkin went to bed." Felicity murmurs, thumbing a light circle on the little girl's palm. She stands up to stretch before reaching down to take the little girl into her arms. "C'mon, Charli. Let's get you to bed."

"Ollie 'ome too?" her head snuggles into Felicity's shoulder. "'Lease?"

Oliver just laughs and stands up to kiss both of his girls. He presses a kiss into Liv's head, and whispers a quiet reassurance that as soon as she was in her pajamas, he would be up to tuck her in. There's a promise of a glass of wine and a tender kiss on red lips for Felicity. While she carries their daughter upstairs to ready her for bed, he cleans up their mess, putting leftovers away, and throwing away trash. The dishes go into the sink for later, and he retrieves a bottle of wine and two glasses for their private use, later. Right now, though, he had a little girl to tuck in.

He pretends not to melt when she tells him she loves him.


	19. Not So Stupid Mistake Alt Version

She's newly eighteen when the tattoo parlor appeals to her.

The bright yellow sign plastered in the window advertises the safest industrials in the city for a less than she paid in textbooks at MIT for the upcoming school year. She works in an electronics store just long enough to rid half a classroom's worth of laptops of a mysterious virus unleashed during a lecture, and earn herself a crisp one hundred dollar bill.

The tattoo parlor is spunky; teal walls splashed with sketched tattoo ideas, thick glossy binders sitting on the counter full of eight by ten photos of previous clients(a quick flick through had revealed some spectacular work), and a waiting area with stools that looked straight from the seventies on a fuzzy throw rug. The woman, who does it, has a head full of candy-apple curls and a full sleeve of tattoos on her left arm. Her name's Tessa, she's sweet, and listens to Felicity's insane babbling with a smile as she pushes the needle through cartilage.

Her mother will call it a stupid mistake later – she'll claim that Felicity will regret it. But, she'll argue that it's her stupid mistake to make and subsequently regret. And, anyway, she's certain her mother's made enough mistakes for the both of them.

And, years later, when Oliver Queen traces that silver bar with his tongue, Felicity Smoak is rendered speechless. He laughs against her head when he realizes that she's not talking, and actually, he's not quite sure she's breathing.

Huh.

Industrial piercing.

Best decision she's ever made.


	20. Wedding Bells, pt one

Sara coos.

Lyla takes a baby cloth to her chin, freeing it of drool, and the remnants of her bottle. It had been Felicity's request - if Lyla and Sara could be with her in the back room of the church, her and Oliver had chosen for the ceremony. Sara's soft babbles fill the room while Lyla fixes her dress. Felicity fidgets with her dress as Donna fixes the last curl in place, before giving her daughter an affectionate squeeze.

"Okay, baby." Donna glances at the clock. "It's time. You ready to become Missus Oliver Queen?"

"Yes."

Tears sting her eyes, despite the risk of her mascara running, and she turns to face her mother, who just smiles at her baby, and reaches up to brush her cheek. "I'm proud of you, Felicity Meghan."

"Thanks, Mom." Felicity's smile is watery at best.

A gentle rap on the door interrupts the moment, but it's okay - they can't afford to start crying, yet. Donna moves away to finish getting ready, before it's time to leave the room, and find her seat in the sanctuary of the old church, just as the door opens.

"Knock, knock!" John pokes his head into the room, smiling at his wife and daughter, and turning to look at Felicity and Donna. "Hello bride-to-be."

"Hi, John."

"Okay," Lyla scoops up her daughter, and makes her way over to Felicity, leaning up to kiss her on the cheek. "I'm going to go find my seat." She takes the bride-to-be by the arm and offers her a warm, kind grin. "You look beautiful, Felicity."

"Thanks Lyla." Felicity gently prods little Sara's tummy. "But, not as beautiful as this one."

Sara just giggles, and is carried out of the room by her mother, who laughs with her daughter about how silly auntie 'Licity is. John holds the door for his wife and daughter, before making his way over to the only other person on this earth, who he would ever consider calling a daughter.

"Well, baby girl." John takes her by the shoulders. "You ready for this?"

"Yes."

Her voice is but a breath and if John's ever seen her face split into such a wide, radiant smile, he doesn't remember it. Donna watches from the sidelines. When Felicity had called her and said a man named John Diggle would be walking her down the aisle, Donna hadn't been able to hide her uneasiness at the situation. But, Felicity spoke so highly of him, and seemed to adore him, that she had reluctantly gone along with what her daughter wanted. And, now, watching them, she understands. It is clear that John Diggle adores her daughter, and she couldn't be happier.

She bids her goodbyes, and makes her way to her seat.

"Felicity," John laughs softly, nudging the young woman. "Breathe. Oliver's not marrying a member of the Blue Man Group."

Felicity just sticks her tongue out at him. The familiar chime of violins reaches them, rising up into a crescendo, intended to help encourage the guests to stand up in anticipation for the bride. It's all carefully timed, and as the violins drop one by one, John and Felicity share a look.

It's time.


	21. Wedding Bells, pt two

He's choking.

Or, at least, he'll tell you he is - he's not. It's just a bow tie and his nerves working together to make him feel faint and like he might actually keel over in front of everyone. He doesn't remember the sanctuary of the church being so warm. While Felicity is Jewish, Oliver doesn't practice a religion to speak of, and it would have made a Jewish wedding difficult - so they had chosen a civil ceremony in a simple church, just large enough to hold everyone they wanted to invite, comfortably and without the issue of, who sits where.

"I'm choking." Oliver murmurs to Barry.

"I'd be worried, if you weren't." Barry just laughs at his friend. "You're getting married. It's normal."

Oliver wants to snarl something obscene but it is his wedding day and he won't ruin it by almost annihilating the Flash. And, anyway, Barry has come to be a friend. Someone Oliver's found himself calling just to remind himself he's still got a few friends left.

"Just breathe, Queen." Barry murmurs, tapping his friend's shoulder to direct his attention to the back doors, where Lyla is entering, Sara in her arms. "Your niece is here."

Sara gurgles and coos at the guests and Oliver can't help but grin, motioning Lyla to bring her up to the altar. Once close enough, Oliver instinctively reaches out to fix her dress, and tickle her little tummy. The wet, gummy smile it elicits is enough to calm Oliver's nerves. He blows a gentle raspberry on her arm and kisses Lyla's cheek.

"Thank you, Lyla."

"No problem, Oliver." Lyla smiles, freeing one arm enough to wrap him up in a warm hug. She presses her cheek to his and whispers reassuringly in his ear. "She loves you, Oliver. Remember that."

"I will." Oliver nods, offering his elbow to the woman. "Let me show you your seat."

Lyla's hand curls around his elbow and he escorts the lovely woman to her seat, so that she can adjust herself and her daughter to a position that's semi-comfortable for the ceremony. Oliver kneels down next to them, wanting to discuss something with her before he had to take his place at the altar, once again. While he's pretty sure Sara would be napping before the end of it, he had taken the extra precaution of preparing an insulated cooler with teething rings, damp washclothes, and sippy cups of water and juice.

"John told me she's teething." Oliver whispers to Lyla, who nodded, affirming what her husband said. He made quick work of reaching under the seat and producing the cooler. Felicity had tucked it away in a white bag so it wouldn't look out of place. "It's got teething rings, washclothes, and drinks, if she needs it." he grins when Lyla's eyes fill with tears, reaching over to rub her arm. "When John told me she was teething, I went home that night and me and Felicity talked about what would keep her comfortable. I went out the next day and bought the stuff."

"Oh, thank you, Oliver."

"You're welcome, Lyla." Oliver genuinely appreciates the woman, his best friend married. "There's also a box of baby ear plugs if she can't handle the noise."

"You're a good friend, Oliver Queen." Lyla smiles and nods toward the altar. "Go. Get married. Make Felicity the happiest and luckiest woman in the world."

He takes his place, just as the music starts. Barry, who'd been fidgeting with his tie, stills and grins like an idiot as the doors open and the procession begins.

Oh boy.

It's time.


	22. Wedding Bells pt three

She is perfection.

Actual, literal perfection walking toward him in a wispy, floor-grazing dress that gives her something of an ethreal appearance. All of her blonde curls are piled on top of her head and he's certain he's going to have a hell of a time testing those silky spirals with his hands later. He can't help but chuckle a little when he notices she's still wearing her glasses but it quickly dissolves into a groan, he hopes like hell Barry can't hear, when he spots the bar still in her ear.

_Damn it to hell. _

When she reaches him, clutching John Diggle's arm, he smiles breathlessly and waits for his best friend to hand her over to him.

"Who gives this woman to this man?"

"Her mother, Donna Smoak." John smiles, turning to kiss Felicity's head. "Congratulations, Felicity." he glares lightly at Oliver. "Don't screw it up, Queen."

"Not a chance."

John takes his place as the best man and nods toward the officiant to proceed with the ceremony. Thea is standing by as maid of honor and Laurel as a bridesmaid. It had been Felicity's idea to ask Laurel to be a part of their wedding - she had, at one time, been important to Oliver and Felicity couldn't ignore that. It certainly helped that Laurel had a bunch of embarrassing stories about Oliver and could spill them to Felicity when he was being stubborn and she needed a reminder that he wasn't all anger and broody sulking.

"Dearly Beloved, we are gathered here today in the presence of these witnesses to join Oliver Jonas Queen and Felicity Meghan Smoak is holy matrimony." Felicity's eyes light up and Oliver visibly relaxes as the ceremony begins. "Therefore it is not to be entered into lightly but reverently, with passion and love. Into this - these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show just cause why these two should not be married, let them speak now or forever hold their peace..."

In almost perfect synchronization Donna, Felicity, Oliver, Thea, and John all make a low sound of warning to anyone, who might dare interrupt them.

"Join hands, please?" Felicity turns to Thea and hands her, her bouquet. "I'm told Oliver and Felicity wrote their own vows. Oliver, would you like to go first?"

Oliver nods, reaching for Felicity's hands. "When we met, I knew you were different. You were in some dark room in Queen Consolidated and seeing you was like seeing the sun after spending five years in a darkness, I didn't realize had followed me home." his smile is soft and tender and she can already feel the tears burning her eyes. "You made me smile that first day - the first minute we met, and I knew. But, I wasn't - I wasn't okay, then. I wasn't ready for so much sun. But, and maybe I should have known, you were Felicity Smoak and you were determined." oh God, had she been determined and now that he's standing here, he's grateful she was. "Soon, you were as much a part of my life as breathing. You had invaded my work, my life, my mind, and if I'm honest, I fell for you. Felicity, we've fought for each other, with each other, and I think we've been to hell and back together. I know now that I was stupid to think I could see you everyday, that I could be around your light, and now fall in love with you. I love you, Felicity Meghan Smoak."

"Oh God. How am I supposed to say my vows after that?" Felicity laughs, looking down at their joined hands. She tilts her head as she looks back up into his eyes. "When we met, I knew you were different. You were in some dark place in your mind and from the first moment, I could see straight through your flimsy excuses." she grins and it's all pearly white teeth and dark raspberry lips. "You were like a code I needed to crack - and, once I did that, everything about you became so unbelievably clear. The more I could see the man behind the mask, the more I fell in love with you, and the more determined I became to show you that you could be the man - and, the hero - that I see in you." she knows the next part is skating on thin ice but she doesn't care. "Oliver you - you went to some very dark places to become the man that you are and there was a time - or two, when I thought I had lost you, but you always managed to find your way back to me." his eyes fill with tears, and he can't help but let a few slip down his cheeks. "You turned my life upside down. You gave a new purpose to my life, you even like my babbling and the involuntary innuendos..and, one of these days, maybe, you'll even teach me to make an omelette. I love you, Oliver Jonas Queen - and I do mean _all _of you."

"The rings, please?" the officiant, a tall, blonde man with dark eyes and a dark complexion, looks expectantly at Thea. "Wedding rings are made precious by our wearing them. Your rings say that even in your uniqueness, you have chosen to be bound together. Let these rings remind you that love is substance as well as soul, present as much as it is past, and it is happiness, even with the occasional sorrows. May these rings remind you always of the vows you have taken here, today."

She gives Felicity and Oliver both an affectionate squeeze, as she hands them the rings. The officiant nods to Oliver, who smiles and takes Felicity's left hand, sliding the ring on her finger. "With this ring, I thee wed."

Felicity slides Oliver's ring on and murmurs the same words; "With this ring, I thee wed."

"By the power vested in me, by the state of California, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

"With pride!"

He sweeps her up in a kiss that knocks them both breathless. The attendees clap and dry their eyes, all happily watching the newlyweds share an intimate kiss. He releases Felicity when it's clear they both need a breath but they join hands once again.

"I present to you, Mr. and Mrs. Oliver Jonas Queen."

As they begin walking down the aisle, smiling at the happy family members and friends, Felicity leans closer to Oliver and murmurs, "Hi, Husband."

His smile threatens to split his face in two as he pulls her closer because her words are comfortable, familiar, like they've been married for years. And, as his arm slips around her waist, he presses a kiss into her hair and responds.

"Hey, Wife."

* * *

**Felicity's vows courtesy of the one, the only, the greatest niagaraweasel! :D I had no idea what to write for Felicity so I asked for help and she is freaking brilliant and awesome and I used every single line of her awesome vows! Also, if it seems short for a wedding ceremony, I do apologize. I am writing a book that required a wedding scene and I started this at the same time I wrote that wedding. I'm tired of writing weddings. **


	23. Home

Traffic isn't moving.

And, Olivia hasn't stopped talking.

Blabbering a mile a minute, after having spent enough time around Felicity to master the art of constant chatter. While Oliver is hoping she either stops talking or falls asleep in the next thirty minutes or so it'll take them to get home, he knows she's tired and also like Felicity, she babbles when she's exhausted.

"Daddy?"

"Livvy?" he raises up to look at her through the rearview mirror. "Are you okay, Liv?"

"I'm tired." Livvy's eyes are heavy and her little body is resting heavily on one side of her carseat. "I 'ant you."

"I know, baby." Oliver sighs softly, "I have to get us home. Mommy's waiting for us."

"'Kay, Daddy. Love you."

"Love you, too, Livvy."

Even though it's not the safe comfort of her Daddy's chest and her jacket isn't nearly as warm as her Daddy's hugs, Olivia drifts off and Oliver's left to entertain himself in the silent car until traffic moves again.

It takes nearly an hour.

Olivia is sound asleep, a curtain of hair falling in her face, when he pulls in the driveway. He's careful to get out of the car and open the back door without waking her up. He carefully unbuckles her carseat and lifts her up, into his arms. Seeming to know where she is, Olivia snuggles deeper into him, little arms winding around his neck.

The lights are off in the house; a sure sign that Felicity's exhaustion had gotten the best of her.

He finds her in the bedroom, buried under the covers, wearing one of his shirts. A split second decision finds Oliver carefully taking Olivia's jacket and shoes off and placing her in bed with Felicity. His daughter wakes up just enough to realize where she is and smiles faintly.

"'ommmy!"

"Hi, baby." Felicity's sleepy voice is hoarse and her arm feels like lead when she's lifts the covers and tugs Olivia into her body. "Come here. You can sleep with Mommy and Daddy, tonight."

While his girls situate themselves in bed, he has a quick shower and changes into a pair of sweats and a t-shirt. When he feels clean and ready for bed, Oliver slowly crawls in beside his girls and wraps his arm around Felicity, hand landing on Olivia's warm stomach.

_Ah. _

_He's home. _


	24. Untouchable

She hears the whispers in HR.

The looks that bore into her back, and sometimes, if the person is feeling particularly creepy, wander down her body, only to spot her ring and quickly avert their eyes. Usually, she ignores it, and most days, it is easily done with the distraction of little tasks that Oliver won't be able to get to. They stare and talk and whisper about how she got to where she is; working side by side with Oliver Queen, wearing a ring, and his last name.

The younger ladies, those with busts bigger than their brains (Oliver had been regretably single during the hiring process) - they like to call her terrible names, like _"slut" _and _"whore", _and other truly awful names, that she thought only high school girls used. The older ladies are sweet enough, she supposes, but they still whisper and look at her as if her position isn't deserved. Funny enough, she never saw them - not once - during the twelve hours she spent with Oliver in meetings, crunching numbers just so the company could stay under budget.

It's one of the many reasons, she only comes to HR when it is an absolute necessity. Like, now, when her signature is needed, because Oliver is indisposed, at the moment.

"Hey Felicity," Diggle's hand sweeps across her shoulders, warm and firm when it slips to her ribs. "Oliver sent me to get you. He wanted to know if you'd like to have lunch out, today?"

"What? Oh. Yeah. I'll go, um, I'll go meet him." Felicity smiles awkwardly, fumbling to get her bearings and get out of there. "Thanks, Dig."

"Oh, and Felicity?" he catches her just as the elevator opens. "Call me, John."

"Okay. John."

She pretends not to hear the solid reaming he launches at HR as she rides the elevator down to her husband's office.

Okay.

Wait.

It's only eleven. She knows the schedule like the back of her hand - they won't be able to grab lunch for another two hours. Oliver Queen is clearly up to something, and her suspicions are only confirmed when she walks into his office and he is leaning against the front of his desk, grinning like the cat that ate the canary. Ooh. Bad choice of words. She tugs the heavy door open and makes her way in, "Oliver?"

"Hey Felicity," Oliver smiles.

"Lunch isn't for..." she's interrupted by Oliver's strong hands wrapping around her biceps. "You didn't call me down here for lunch."

"I know. About HR." his voice is soft, but still kind of growly and hoarse. "Felicity, why didn't you tell me?"

"Because, they already have a problem with us." Felicity growls at him. "Being Vice President, and married to the CEO has kind of ruined my reputation, around here. Not that I ever had one, but if I did, it would be a good one."

"I know." Oliver nods, "But Felicity, you should have told me. I can fire those girls in a split second."

"Then, you'd have to fire everyone in HR." Felicity drops her shoulders, tears stinging her blue eyes. "They all do it."

"Okay." his gaze moves above her head, jaw clenching as he seems to make a decision. "Come with me."

"What? Where? Why?"

He takes her hand and tugs her along to the elevator. She protests, rambling a list of reasons why this is a bad idea and it's only going to make things worse, but he ignores her because _nobody _is going to talk about his wife behind his back and think they can get away with it. "I won't have them talking trash about my wife. You're my wife, and I _love _you."

The elevator doors open.

Looks.

Whispers.

Felicity has never felt so small in her life. Her husband is CEO Oliver Queen, she's Vice President. They both have more authority than these silly twits ever will, but their whispers and looks make her feel like she's nothing more than the carpet they walk on. She stays behind him, because she truly doesn't want to see the looks these women will give her with Oliver at her side.

"Excuse me," Oliver's booming voice is loud and harsh, demanding everyone's attention. And, all eyes turn to him as if under some sort of spell. "It has come to my attention that my _wife _is not being treated with respect." he watches them deflate as they realize quite quickly why he's on their floor. "I would like to make a couple of things clear, right now. Felicity is not Vice President because she slept with me. I made her vice president of this company because she is intelligent, kind, and knows what needs to be done to keep this company going. Frankly, I think she's smarter than all of you." they're crumbling fast, but Oliver continues. "Second of all, she did _not _trap me. Felicity Smoak is my wife because I love her, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her. And last, if I hear anymore of the horrible names you call her, there _will _be major consequences."

_"Wow!" _

_"I'd still bang him!" _

_"Like a screen door in a hurricane!" _

Oliver rolls his eyes and clears his throat because clearly what he just said has had no effect on them. "Excuse me, ladies. Felicity does her best to nurture kindness and respect but I can see now that, that simply won't work with you." his glare hardens considerably and they all seem to shrink a little smaller. "So let me make myself perfectly, I am Oliver Queen. This woman behind me - this is my wife. If I hear one more word of you calling her names, I will fire each and every one of you. Clear?"

A chorus of "yes, sir" from the ladies - as insincere as it may be - and Oliver ends the lecture. For now. He's certain these ladies will give him more trouble in the future and if that proves to be the case, then their future will not be at Queen Consolidated but at the unemployment office downtown.

"Oh, and just so you know," he turns to Felicity, taking her face in his hands. Before she has time to voice her great protest at his action, he kissing her. It's a little anger, a little awkwardness at how public this is, but it's mostly just _Oliver_. He loves her, no matter what the bitchy snobs of HR have to say. "I love you, Felicity Queen."

"I love you too, Oliver."

She thanks him later. A lot and with great enthusiasm.

He has trouble walking the next day.


	25. Exercise

The Foundry _should _be empty.

Emphasis on _should_. Diggle is at home with Lyla and Sara - the teething baby was getting the best of them, or so it felt like. Laurel was out doing whatever she does in her spare time. Honestly, he tries not to think to hard on that one. And Thea is, to his knowledge, upstairs in the club. But, it isn't quiet. Not completely. He can hear the distinct sound of fists colliding with a punching bag, soft groans and grunts accompanying the effort, whoever it is, is obviously putting into it.

There can only be one person, really. And, when he peeks around the corner, his suspicions are confirmed. There she is. Felicity. Dressed in a pair of loose black shorts with a white stripe down the side and a neon pink sports bra, her blonde hair swishing messily in its ponytail, and her hands wrapped with tape. Her punches are clear, focused in on a single spot on the bag, and he can't help but smile at the concentrated scowl on her face. He watches her shoulders move, a wave of ripples beneath the skin as muscles contract and relax and adjust to her movement.

"I didn't know you were here." his voice startles her, eliciting a squeak of surprise; obviously, she wasn't expecting anybody to show up.

"Oliver!" Felicity clears her throat because she does not enjoy sounding like a chipmunk. "I was just - "

"Working out." Oliver grins, making his way to her. "Felicity, why do you workout here? Your salary would more than afford you a membership to any gym you want. Why here?"

"I'm comfortable, here." Felicity shrugs, tossing a jab at the bag, but Oliver's presence is enough to distract her and she doesn't quite hit the mark. "Gyms are a nightmare. I'm not good with people, usually. Most of the time."

"But here - "

"Nobody can judge me." her voice is soft; confessing things like this make her feel vulnerable and she's not especially fond of it. "I thought."

"I'm not judging you, Felicity." Oliver shakes his head.

_No. _

It would never be his intent to judge her. Felicity is far too important to him. She is his Girl Friday, his partner, and she is his best friend. The one person from whom he seeks solace, counsel, and with whom he can confide his secrets, share his pain, and open up about what's made Oliver Queen who he is. He would never risk losing her by passing judgement. Not intentionally. There have been a few instances in which he criticized her in moments of anger or frustration at whatever mission they happened to be working, but was soon made to feel like the biggest asshole on the planet.

"I needed some place where I could burn off my frustration alone. Where I could feel like I was gaining something." Felicity looks down at her shoes; the neon pink and black shoes she'd invested in for her secret workouts. Guess, that was money wasted. "Not just letting snotty women take my confidence from me."

"Nobody has that power over you, Felicity." he's never seen anyone take Felicity's confidence from her. Not successfully and not without consequences. "Especially not the women of Starling."

"You'd be surprised, Oliver." her eyes are so very, very blue and glassy when she looks up at him. "I'm better at being smart than being physical. Put me in front of a computer and I can give you whatever you want. Give me a barbell and I'll drop it on my head."

"You seemed alright with that bag." Oliver nods toward the punching bag, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Not everyone can do barbells. It's not a bad thing, Felicity."

"It is when you feel like you're being watched." Felicity's bottom lip trembles a little. "Like I said, I don't _do _physical. I do mental, I do math and computers and designing tech for CEOs with their heads up their asses."

That last one is true.

While working undercover, so to speak, as his assistant or, _Girl Wednesday _as they affectionately call it, she had designed new tech that made Green Arrow invisible to security cameras. A tiny button on the inside of his bow, that when pushed, disable any security cameras within range and kept the police or any enemies from being able to track him down or get a lead on who he might be. It was brilliant and so far had worked exactly as designed.

"Felicity," Oliver moves a little closer, reaching out to take her hand. "I don't mind if you work out here. You are always welcome to use whatever you want but I don't like that going somewhere like a gym makes you feel uncomfortable or makes you lose all confidence."

"Oliver - "

"You're a confident person, Felicity." he speaks so matter of factly, she almost believes him. "And if somebody, even without meaning to, is taking that from you, then those people deserve to be dealt with."

Felicity's mouth curls in a fond smile; "You can't put an arrow in everyone who might affect me, Oliver." her eyes quirk upwards in thought. "You'd have to put an arrow in a _lot _of people. I don't even think you own enough arrows."

Oliver just laughs and gives her hand a little tug, so she steps closer. When she's more than invading his personal space, he brings his hands up to cradle her face and leans down to press his mouth to her soft little smile. It's a long, languid kiss and Felicity feels damp and overheated against him but he doesn't care. He loves it. He loves _her. _

"I'll leave you alone, now." Oliver mumbles against her mouth, trying to pull away. "I didn't mean to interrupt you."

"I don't mind." Felicity smiles, biting down on his bottom lip.

Oliver's eyes close and he bites back a groan. "Fe-lic-_ity_!"

She nibbles, again. That does the trick. Felicity hits the mats with Oliver not far behind her. And, there may or may not be a neon pink sports bra hanging precariously from the salmon ladder when Laurel comes into work.

She doesn't ask.


	26. The Color Conundrum

"Shit!"

Oliver's eyebrows raise, hand pausing over the pot of pasta he'd been stirring, and he turns his head in the vague direction of the laundry room where Felicity had been for the past few minutes tranferring a load of whites from the washer to the dryer. Although, if the loud curse was anything to go by, there had clearly been some sort of setback in doing so.

"Uh, Felicity?" he's a little scared to ask, given her rather loud outburst, but if she is injured - that is something he needs to know. "Everything alright, honey?"

"No!" the blonde's voice is a few octaves higher and he hears the ruffle of denim as she comes down the hall. "Nononono! No! Oliver!"

"Felicity?"

He bites back his laughter when she comes in the kitchen holding the laundry basket like it contains some sort of explosive device. There's something terribly adorable about the deep furrow of her eyebrows and the way she sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, clearly concerned, and it's only upon closer inspection does he understand why.

Their white clothes are _pink_.

It's not an outlandish or particularly garish shade of pink but it is just enough to know that the clothes were definitely _not _supposed to be that color.

"They're pink." Oliver notes, looking up at his fiancee. "Did you separate them?"

"Yes. The whites from the colors and then the lights from the darks." Felicity assures him. "I don't know what could have turned them pink."

"Okay." he takes her by a bicep and guides her over to the table they eat breakfast on in the mornings. "Okay. Well, I'm sure it's nothing."

"They're pink, Oliver. Pink!" Felicity growls, looking up at him. "Unless you went behind me and poured dye in the washer, they shouldn't be pink."

Oliver just grins in amusement and turns to rifle through the laundry basket, immediately finding the culprit. A pair of red panties. _Her _red panties. The same pair she wore underneath that little black dress, last week, that made them go through three condoms and a pregnancy test.

Of course, Oliver, being the good fiance, says nothing, simply buries the underwear underneath the rest of the white clothes, out of her sight, and plucks the basket from the table. "I will go see if I can fix it."

He kisses her head as he passes on his way to the laundry room to re-wash the whites and toss her panties in the right basket. He pours the proper amounts of bleach and detergent in the washer and sends the pink clothes through another cycle to rinse away the transferred dye.

Within an hour, everything has been resolved; the whites are no longer pink, dinner is finished, and Oliver vows to keep his favorite girl far away from his favorite clothes.

Felicity _never _does laundry, again.


End file.
